


I Can Give It All To You, Baby

by succor_punch



Series: The Photo Fiasco [1]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Daniel cannot cope, M/M, no beta we die like men, somehow gratuitous use of math terms, the 80’s thirst photos come home to roost, your guess is as good as mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29325777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/succor_punch/pseuds/succor_punch
Summary: Daniel finds the photos.***Whatever pervert directed this photoshoot knew what they were doing. The next pose has Johnny leaning back against a rock wall with his leg half-hitched up and he looks every inch like a prime, sex-on-a-stick alpha male. White baggy trousers that offset his tanned chest, which is... shiny. Did they fucking rub him down with oil?
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Series: The Photo Fiasco [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191599
Comments: 62
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It galls me that there aren’t a hundred fics about this delicious trope waiting to happen. Those thirsty-ass pictures of Billy Zabka were inducted into show canon and the fallout has not been addressed. I came across various posts on tumblr lamenting that there weren’t enough stories with this premise and agreed. There’s a little bending of canon to indulge my vices; it’s post-fight (Miguel’s recuperating) but pre-dojo merger; somehow tensions have simmered down a little and Johnny & Daniel are moving towards an armistice. (Also Daniel and Amanda are separated and it’s Sid’s fault that the photos exist.) I’ve written the odd fic before, but this is my first time ever posting to ao3 and the work is unbeta’d, so please be kind.

Daniel knows something sinister’s brewing the minute he sees a cluster of Miyagi-Do and Cobra Kai kids fraternizing on the high school lawn.

Everyone is huddled up around their phones, clearly engrossed in something on their screens. Sam and Miguel are making expressions of distaste and horror, respectively. At the opposite pole of the group are Tory and Aisha, giggling and making scandalized faces. In the middle, Hawk and Mikey are guffawing and body-checking each other. Daniel is confident they’re not planning an intramural karate competition, so this can only bode ill. With growing dread, he walks over to see what all the fuss is about. Samantha spots him first.

“Dad!” she blurts out, loud enough to put some of the group on alert. A few phones are hastily pocketed. Sam’s eyes go wide and her foot starts tapping vigorously. It reminds Daniel of the time he caught her and Moon in the basement, clearly buzzed off of alcohol they hadn’t disposed of fast enough. It strengthens his conviction that there is trouble afoot.

“What exactly is going on here?” Daniel enunciates, and now most of the group wises up to the fact that there’s a parent in their midst. More phones suddenly vanish.

“Nothing, Dad!” Sam pipes up with a smile. It’s about as convincing as her denial after she’d tossed the liquor into the wash and insisted the detergent had always smelled like that. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here actually, I think there’s a thing with my... car,” she ad-libs poorly. “I think I have, uhhh, a leak in my tire. Can you come take a look?”

Daniel considers letting it go. There are still a few snickers and gasps coming from the back of the group, though, and his instinct says it’d take something pretty sensational to get the Cobra Kai and Miyagi-Do students to cozy up together like this. He decides to press for more.

“Nice try, honey,” he says, evading Sam’s attempts to pull him towards the parking lot. “What was everyone looking at on their phones?” He spies Miguel on the right side of the pack and stalks over to him. Poor Miguel hasn’t stowed away his phone yet because he has to balance precariously on one crutch to reach down to his jean pocket. Tamping down the guilt, Daniel grabs the device and wrests it away.

Unfortunately, the blank screen isn’t very enlightening. Even in his disadvantaged state Miguel managed to lock the display before LaRusso got it. Goddamn digital natives.

“Miguel, what were you all just looking at?” Daniel pries in a gentle, fatherly voice that’d normally crack a good kid like Miguel like an egg. Miguel’s face does a kind of conflicted spasm and he turns to look at Sam. Sam mouths back “No,” but not even his girl-crush can stand up to Daniel’s paternal powers of manipulation.

“C’mon, Miguel, you can tell me,” he reassures. “Is it something serious?” He can almost see the beads of sweat form on the boy’s forehead.

“It’s, uhhhh, it’s about Mr. Lawrence and you might not want to see, uhhhh” Miguel rambles, managing brief spurts of coherence in between periods of cognitive flatline. He is not nearly smooth or practiced enough to talk the group out of this jam.

“What do you _mean_ it’s about Sensei Lawrence,” Daniel bites out, unsure whether he should be furious or frightened. “Did somebody shoot a video of him being drunk and disorderly or something? He better not have punched a cop, because I swear to God --”

“No!” Chris interrupts, but as soon as Daniel start to advance on him with follow-up questions, the coward makes a run for his mom’s car, which had apparently been idling by the curb, waiting for the cabal of teenagers to finish their suspicious business. Daniel wheels around and asks the remaining kids, Jersey accent ratcheted up to 11, “Is anybody gonna let me in on the big secret here?”

Some of the teenagers play deaf or dumb, others exchange agonized looks. Daniel catches Sam and Miguel gesticulating at each other in a very panicked game of hands-only charades. His stomach, which had already gone a little queasy at the mention of Johnny, starts churning for real.

“Did Kreese send goons after him, did he get hurt?” Daniel manages, because so help him if he finds Johnny battered and bruised he will--

“Nonono, it’s nothing like that,” Aisha hastens to say, but when Daniel turns on her, her words dry up and she’s unwilling to explain further.

Daniel doesn’t know which wavelength he should be tuning his alarm-dial to. Did Johnny get in another car accident? Pick a fight? Leave town? He scrubs at his face and notices his watch.

“I’m gonna be late for the PTA meeting,” he realizes.

But if he doesn’t get answers, he won’t be able to focus on a thing for the next two hours. Since the dojo kids have apparently picked _now_ to link arms for a common cause, Daniel does he only thing he can think of and digs out his phone to speed-dial Johnny. (So what if Johnny’s one of his “favorites” now.)

It rings, rings, rings, without answer. Johnny’s not great about picking up his phone, Daniel knows this, but it still makes the pit in his stomach swell. In his peripheral vision, Daniel can see Sam waving her arms at him, trying to derail this obviously terrible idea – but he ignores her. When the call finally goes to voicemail, Daniel barely even registers the obnoxious message Johnny recorded, he just chews his lip until he hears the beep and starts vomiting words:  
  


“Johnny. Johnny, it’s LaRusso. Daniel. Johnny, are you alright? You have to call me back, I’m –”

And Daniel’s reflexes are so shot from stress he doesn’t notice for a solid second Aisha has taken his phone away and ended the call. He gapes at her, searches for the correct response (indignation?) but Aisha’s already returned his cell to his outstretched hand and turned around to face the group.

“Guys,” she addresses her fellow conspirators. “Mr. LaRusso is gonna give himself an aneurysm if he keeps going like this, and the PTA moms are for sure gonna be gossiping about this anyway. We gotta tell him.”

“Tell me WHAT?” Daniel snaps, finally regaining his powers of speech.

Aisha sighs, unlocks her phone, and passes it to Daniel.

***

“What.” is the first thing out of his mouth. It’s an involuntary emission, like when you’re drinking and see something so outrageous you do a spit-take. It’s like that.

It’s Johnny, alright. Miguel was telling the truth about that. But not present-day Johnny; this is blast from the past Johnny, 30-plus years ago Johnny, Daniel’s tormentor, nemesis, figment of his nightmares (dreams).

It’s _that_ Johnny, but minus half of his clothes. Standing up to his knees in the California surf, poured into low-rise jeans, blond hair dripping onto a chest that is... Daniel casts about for adjectives. Lean, muscular without that over-the-top juiced look. For a moment, Daniel thinks he’s been handed a portal traversing time and space, letting him look into a private moment that he – that _anybody_ – has no business seeing.

A whisper from some asshole teen breaks his reverie:

“Dude, do you think he already had the stroke? Does he need help?”

Daniel rips his eyes away to glare in the general direction of this stupidity. He feels like he’s violated some sort of trust, feels dirty, but forces words past his discomfort to ask the important questions.

“Where,” he grits out, sounding more than a little unhinged, “did you get this?”

Sam, dutiful daughter that she is, tries to de-escalate.

“Dad,” she soothes, “we’re not the ones who found them. I guess somebody leaked them on a PTA message board last night, as a prank or whatever, and a moderator took them down later but by then they were already all over Facebook and Insta and SnapChat and WhatsApp and –“

As his daughter trails off, it dawns on Daniel that his daughter is saying “they”, “them”, plural.

“There are more... of these?” he asks, ignoring the fact that his stomach is turning somersaults.

Aisha rolls her eyes and steps in to assist. “Yeah Mr. L., swipe right.”

Daniel has to gird himself before he opens Pandora’s box even further. The next one is not better. On some level he should feel relieved these are all softcore and you can’t see anything R-rated. But they’re still erotic photos of Daniel’s... frenemy? And maybe they’re tame by modern standards, but the effect is undeniably lewd.

Whatever pervert directed this photoshoot knew what they were doing. The next pose has Johnny leaning back against a rock wall with his leg half-hitched up and he looks every inch like a prime, sex-on-a-stick alpha male. White baggy trousers that contrast exquisitely with his tanned chest, which is... shiny. Did they fucking rub him down with oil?

Daniel would have to go back and audit his college anatomy and physiology class to even identify half of Johnny’s muscles. Sure, he knew Johnny was built; he fought him, he watched women fawn over him. Then, now. But this is intimate, stuff only his girlfriends got to see up-close and personal. (Jesus, Ali probably touched his chest. Daniel must've seemed like a different species by comparison.)

His pecs are firm and flexed, the bones of his clavicle so level and pronounced you could use them to check the tilt of your furniture. His abs are no joke, Daniel knew that already, but those diagonal ridges running up his sides are obscene (obliques, Daniel's mind supplies belatedly). Daniel has no idea how long he’s been staring before Sam breaks in.

“Dad, are you... ok?”

Daniel is rapidly losing his grip on reality, so he engages dad lecture auto-pilot, but it’s probably not very persuasive.

“This is _incredibly_ inappropriate,” he scolds the group. “you should be getting all moony-eyed over Timothée Chalamet, not one of your friend’s DADS, who _several_ of you call sensei,” he finishes, glaring at Miguel, Aisha, Tory, Hawk, and Mikey in turn. Most look chagrined, so maybe he’s not completely botching this moral lesson. He carries on: “Do you even know how _old_ these photos are? These were taken about three _decades_ ago.”

Tory chooses this time to interject: “Yeah, but he’s still got it though,” with a smirk.

Daniel doesn’t contemplate violence against minors for a second, not even against this sharp-tongued monster who gave Sam panic attacks. Daniel is so busy not considering violence that his sweaty thumb slips to the right.

In the third photo Johnny’s wearing a... well, it might’ve once been an extra-small white Henley, before somebody tore it open over Johnny’s barrel chest and turned it into a glorified smock. It’s not even covering _half_ of Johnny’s torso, and somehow that’s more indecent than the shirtless pics – the juxtaposition of the sunny, thousand-kilowatt smile and the tousled blonde hair and Johnny’s whole left _tit_ just sitting out there for the world to see. Daniel swallows.

“Shit, look at the rack on him,” intones Hawk in the back, which clues Daniel into the fact that some of these degenerates have gotten their phones _back out_ and resumed browsing the photos.

“ **Enough**!” Daniel shouts. He’s so loud that all the heads of the kids and parents in the pickup zone swivel towards him.

Moskowitz, too, jerks his head up and if he doesn’t see murder in Daniel’s eyes then, well, it’s something similarly deranged. Hawk blanches, then hollers that he’s ‘Gotta take a leak!’ and hightails it back towards the school.

Daniel buries his face in his hands again. If he didn’t need therapy before, he sure as hell does now, after hearing an adolescent fanboy admire Johnny’s “rack”. Maybe it'd help if Johnny dressed his damn age, instead of wearing those flimsy v-neck t-shirts that clung like a second skin.

For a minute, Daniel wallows in remorse for losing his temper at a bunch of hormonal teenagers, and by the time he unhands his face, most of the gang has disbanded. Just Sam, Aisha, and Miguel remain.

“Dad, are you OK?” Sam repeats. Her voice is tinged with genuine concern, which makes sense, because Daniel has been acting... erratic. “I know you and Johnny have, uh, history” she continues, “and I get that you’re upset, but we didn’t go out of our way to see that stuff, people sent them to us.”

Daniel wrings his hands a little, because that’s a sobering thought – Johnny’s pictures have gone _viral_. What a royal mess. He wonders if Johnny knows yet that his 80’s beach boudoir photos are being traded between everyone from soccer moms, to high school vixens, to horny teenage boys. Samantha puts a bracing hand on his shoulder.

“It’ll be all right, Dad,” she comforts – “It’ll blow over soon enough. And you know Mr. Lawrence, he’ll probably just take it as an ego boost.”

This outcome is, in fact, one of the fears swirling around in Daniel’s bottomless well of worry. He’s not even sure he can catalog all his anxieties over these photos. The only thing Daniel is sure of is that he needs to leave this place. He needs to be literally anywhere but here, put distance between himself and these teenagers’ hormones and the disturbing pictures of Johnny.

“I have to go,” he affirms aloud. And then, putting action to word, he’s walking away, towards his car, as fast as his feet will carry him. So that’s something, his body can still follow simple directives.

“Dad,” Samantha calls after his retreating back – “Dad, you just got here? What about the PTA meeting?”

Daniel does not turn around. The quicker he walks, the more a high-pitched ringing crescendos in his ears, and wouldn’t this be just the time to find out he’s got tinnitus? But at least the whine stops him from hearing anything more that Sam, Miguel, or Aisha say about his absurd freak-out as he jogs away. Small mercy.

Daniel doesn’t exactly remember getting into his car; he’s already fired up the ignition by the time he regains some measure of awareness. Briefly, Daniel questions whether he’s a Manchurian Candidate, a sleeper agent conditioned to black out when he sees those ridiculous photos of Johnny and carry out some secret subroutine.

(What is that subroutine? Fucked if he knows.)

Daniel tries to get a handle on himself and contemplates where he should drive. He considers heading home to take an extra-vigorous shower. That would be logical; anyone would want to scrub themselves clean after being visually accosted by that _smut_. Daniel feels like the images have been burned into his retinas.

But going home carries the risk of running into Amanda, and while Amanda remains cordial despite their pending separation, she will inevitably ask why Daniel isn’t at the PTA meeting. This, in turn, means Daniel would either have to lie (which he is bad at), or combust from the sheer indignity of trying to explain the photo scandal. So, no, home is out.

There’s also the prospect of going to a bar and tossing back a few martinis. Liquor would definitely take the edge off, help bridle the adrenaline racing through his body. But, even if 5 o’clock is the traditional happy hour call time, the full-force California sunshine makes it feel too early to start binge-drinking. And he’d likely wind up in no state to drive himself home.

His third choice is... well, Daniel recognizes it’s equally dangerous, though it’s more a threat to his psyche than his physical safety. But there’s something brave about driving to Johnny’s and confronting this thing head on, right? Isn’t that what Mr. Miyagi would’ve wanted? ‘ _Must not lose to fear_.’

And Johnny’s so hopeless with social media, he might not get wise to his newfound stardom for days. He might wander into the liquor store, wearing his Levi’s and that faded Zebra shirt, only for the women (and even men) in the area to start drooling over him like a pack of animals. The idea of Johnny walking into the lion’s den, all unsuspecting... Daniel would be doing him a kindness by warning him.

Daniel steeled his resolve; he could do this. He could talk about this like an adult with Johnny. Daniel realized a beat later that he should be prepared to _show_ Johnny the pictures; god forbid he try and describe them. No, visual aids were the way to go – but where could he find the pictures? According to Sam and Aisha, the photos were blowing up on social media, and the PTA moms were complicit.

Daniel brought up Facebook on his phone and, on a hunch, navigated to the page of the PTA group. Sure enough, in the “Discussion” tab, that picture of Johnny in the wet, skintight jeans is the top post. The other two photos aren’t far behind. Yep, that’s definitely his friend, looking like a bronzed Playgirl Playmate for all the moms and dads of West Valley High to see.

In hindsight, Daniel absolutely should **_not_** have skimmed the comments before shifting into drive. Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daniel becomes very flustered and there is a reckoning.

He checks out for much of the drive to Johnny’s apartment. The ringing in his ears is back, and Daniel realizes he’s sweating more than usual. His body has gone into revolt, like a second wave of puberty. Stress does funny things to a person. The point is, Daniel’s not exactly compos mentis when he walks over to Johnny’s unit and rings the bell. If he’s a little discombobulated when Johnny answers the door in a white tank-top and boxers, it’s understandable.

Especially given how the tank top immediately reminds Daniel of the photos where Johnny was in that skimpy white formerly-a-Henley rag. And yeah, Johnny’s older now but his body hasn’t gotten the memo like Daniel’s has. His chest is still sculpted, his shoulders are wide and rock-solid, and even if he sports a few wrinkles, he’s still got the blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that made him an absolute knockout in his teens. The same eyes that are staring, a little blearily, at Daniel now.

“LaRusso, to what do I owe the honor?” Johnny asks.

“Wehavetotalk,” Daniel gasps out, and he can be forgiven for letting his words run together a little because he’s pretty sure cardiac arrhythmia can now be added to his list of symptoms.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny seems to wake up quick in the face of Daniel’s obvious distress. His brow furrows. “Is it the kids?”

“No no,” Daniel replies, making sure to nip that worry in the bud. “Nothing wrong with the kids, they’re fine. This is about you.”

Johnny gives Daniel a searching look.

“I do something to piss you off, LaRusso?”

“No, not really, it’s... can I come inside?” Daniel looks pointedly over Johnny’s shoulder. He very much does not want to have this conversation on Johnny’s stoop where anyone could hear. Johnny studies him again before shrugging.

“Sure, but it’s been a while since I cleaned, so don’t expect the Taj Mahal or nothin’.” He stands aside and Daniel enters, making sure not to telegraph anything strange with his body as he passes within inches of Johnny’s (now famous) chest. He’s a grown-up, they’re both grown-ups, this will be fine.

Daniel stands indecisively near the entryway as Johnny crosses to the refrigerator and bends over to pull out a Coors, casual as you please. Daniel looks away because if he’s not careful, Johnny’s lack of modesty is going to trample over every boundary of their friendship. Daniel studiously does not think of how all those photos were shot from the front, of what those PTA groupies might’ve been missing _._

Johnny re-emerges from the fridge and sets his beer down.

“What’s your business, LaRusso?” he probes.

Daniel can do this, he just has to show him the photos. Exhibit A. He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. The Johnny of his youth is waiting on his screen, still looking like a towheaded Adonis. With a burst of momentum, Daniel slaps his phone down, flips it around, and shoves it across the counter like he’s serving a summons.

“This is what,” he snaps, proud of himself for only sounding a little strained. Johnny looks down to take it in, and his reaction is unmissable. His eyes go wide as saucers, his Adam’s apple bobs. He picks up the phone and, with some difficulty, figures out how to scroll to view the other two pictures. He sets the mobile down and looks almost... skittish as he gazes back up at Daniel.

“Who posted these?”, he asks gruffly, but the tone doesn’t mask his nervousness. Daniel’s glad he’s not the only one now, at least.

“I think a better question would be, why do these exist?” Daniel counters. And Daniel is watching Johnny very closely now, so he picks up on how he weighs his words before speaking – which everyone knows is not the Johnny Lawrence MO. Strike first, strike hard, no mercy. But Johnny doesn’t look combative now, he looks sheepish and awkward. Johnny sighs and takes a swig of beer before he finally answers.

“Look,” he mumbles. “My moneybags stepdad and I never got along, and he cut me off after I stopped letting him knock me around. I needed some cash and I got approached by this modeling scout who’d been in the stands at the All-Valley. So... this happened,” he concludes, gesturing vaguely at the phone. Daniel realizes with a start that Johnny is blushing.

“Did you know... it would be like this? The photo shoot?” Daniel asks, then elaborates so he doesn’t sound _quite_ as stupid. “I mean, Johnny, these look like they belong on the cover of a bodice-ripper romance or somethin’.” Johnny blushes deeper.

“I know they’re cheesy as shit,” he says, sounding contrite (by Johnny standards). “But they paid the bills and whatever. Why d’you gotta gimme a hard time about this?”

‘Cheesy’ wasn’t necessarily what came to mind for Daniel. Indecent, verging on shameless? Yeah. Rugged? Probably should’ve quashed that thought. About as subtle as a kick to the face? Sure. Sexy? Distressingly so. Daniel tries to anchor himself in the events that brought him here. Right, the kids. Sam.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole,” Daniel says, keeping a thin tether on his sanity. “But it’s not just the PTA spreading these around. All our students were ogling you when I visited the school today.”

Johnny groans and scrubs his face with his hands. “Jesus. I guess it’s a good thing you’re cut off from the internet in juvie.”

Johnny reaches for his beer again, and this time he takes a longer pull. Daniel doesn’t watch the condensation streak down Johnny’s arm, or watch his throat as he swallows. Johnny sighs.

“Well, this is fuckin’ embarrassing,” Johnny moped into his beer. Yeah, like _he_ was the victim.

“How do you think I felt when I caught the kids eye-banging old photos of you?” LaRusso retorts, aware that he’s getting progressively shriller and his accent stronger as he carries on.

“Whaddya want me to say, LaRusso?” Johnny throws back. “Mea culpa?”

“That’s Latin,” says Daniel. This is a stupid observation, but being near Johnny does ruinous things to his brain.

“Yeah, shithead, I was a stud and I know a dead language,” Johnny smirks. “Jealous much?”

Daniel isn’t, but he also has no idea what he _is_ feeling, so he keeps his trap shut for a minute and tries to gather his thoughts. Remember his mission. After a moment:

“You don’t get it,” he volleys back, “they don’t just think you were a stud then, some of them have the hots for you _now_ , Johnny... Jesus almighty, you should’ve heard what _Eli_ said about your chest.” Daniel stops, but only because his hyperventilating demands it.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow at him.

“You got a problem with guys liking guys, LaRusso?”

Daniel’s hyperventilating intensifies. Does that mean that he’s hyperhyperventilating? He feels a little faint, but also defensive.

“Not at all,” he counters, “but it was a little upsetting when Hawk waxed poetic about your _rack_.”

Johnny chokes on his Coors Banquet.

“My _what_? I gotta talk with whoever’s teaching the sex ed unit in health, ‘cuz I don’t have _a rack._ Pamela Anderson has _a rack._ ” Johnny mulls this over for a minute. “Or is it like, one of those words that means a different thing now than it did when we were kids? Like troll?”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “No, Johnny, believe me, he was talking about your chest. It was very... prominent.”

Johnny looks offended; he can practically see his hackles go up.

“You tryin’ to say something, LaRusso? Just because your scrawny chest is flatter than a sand trap doesn’t mean mine’s weird. They’re called pecs!”

Great, now Johnny’s pissed. Daniel tries to mollify him:

“I’m not insulting you, Johnny! Believe me, nobody with eyes could complain about your chest. It’s unreal.”

Johnny locks eyes with Daniel so fast, _he_ feels vertigo, and Daniel realizes his mistake.

“I mean, it looked very nice, in the photos,” he amends. “The kids were creepily into it. Trust me.”

Johnny is still boring into Daniel with his very blue eyes. Daniel can’t decide if he wants to run away from Johnny, or directly at him. Johnny always did bring out his inner bull.

“Y’know,” he drawls, “it kinda seems like the photos got you a little flustered, LaRusso.” And then he’s moving slowly in Daniel’s direction, not unlike how Johnny would circle him before a fight. Daniel instinctively puts his hands up and inches back.

“How was I supposed to react, Johnny? I wasn’t exactly expecting to see half-naked photos of you at 4:30 on a Wednesday, on my daughter’s phone!” (Technically it was Aisha’s phone, but Sam has more dramatic impact.)

Johnny chews on this and crosses his arms over his chest. Daniel falls for it – he looks. And yeah, it’s still an incredible chest, that was no slip of the tongue. Johnny is fucking built and Daniel can’t escape the fact that he likes it, maybe wants to admire it up close.

The attention does not go unnoticed. Johnny, who was clearly flexing for his benefit, leers. Daniel’s face goes so hot he’s afraid he’s sporting a sudden-onset rash instead of a blush. Johnny starts moving in towards Daniel again and presses his advantage.

“Well, it’s weird that the kids were into it, but I don’t see why a few photos of my rockin’ physique would put you on the warpath.” Johnny looms closer. “Why so hot under the collar?”

Daniel, who has been retreating as slowly and surely as the Arctic ice shelf, bumps up against the back of Johnny’s couch. He is feeling aroused and terrified in equal measure, not sure which drive will win out. Johnny senses his skittishness, maybe, and dials it back a notch. He leans against the counter where Daniel had been standing minutes ago.

“You were a looker back then too, you know,” he admits, voice softer now.

And boy, that takes the breath out of Daniel like a strike to the solar plexus. His mouth goes dry and he tries, valiantly, to think of a reply.

“You just compared my chest to a sand trap,” he manages. Johnny looks chagrined.

“Sorry, I was being a dick. I mean, yeah, I’ve got a little more muscle mass, but you’re in great shape, LaRusso, it’s hard to miss. And those eyes, sheesh.”

Johnny saying that he’s fit, that it’s hard to miss... makes him feel buzzed, and he’s not even the one drinking. Daniel didn’t know Johnny had ever noticed his eyes (which, as far as he’s concerned, are unremarkable), but the compliment stirs something in him. If Johnny’s going to be generous, he can dip a toe in the compliment pool too.

“My eyes are common as mud,” he demurs. “Your eyes are like, the stuff people write songs about. Blue enough to drown in, all that stuff.”

Johnny smiles a genuine smile at that, roguish but still sweet. It’s so powerful that for a second, Daniel imagines an alternate universe where Johnny didn’t pummel him in high school, but instead let Daniel get close to him – a world where Daniel might have written prose like that on a valentine for Johnny. Dropped it surreptitiously in his locker. The fondness that wells up makes Daniel smile back.

Johnny slowly, so slowly, starts moving towards Daniel again. Daniel musters all his courage to stay put.

“So, the photos,” Johnny floats, testing the waters - “... they aged well?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “I mean, I was only half-joking about the harlequin romance thing. You had a hell of a smoldering look back then, Johnny. And uh, you were... really fit.”

‘ _He’s still got it_ ,’ Tory’s voice replays in Daniel’s head. And Daniel agrees, Johnny has still got it, has always had it, exudes so much animal magnetism that his sexual charisma alone could’ve given Daniel a nosebleed back in high school. He’s _that fucking hot_ , and he is maybe, quite possibly, flirting with Daniel. Johnny takes a long swallow of beer before continuing his interrogation.

“You thought so, huh?” he rumbles.

“I mean, like, objectively,” Daniel stammers, and now he’s really walking a tightrope. “You would’ve been right at home on Baywatch, Johnny. And you haven’t let yourself go since.”

Johnny licks his lips and Daniel _feels_ it like he’s tapped into a new sixth sense. Johnny pauses again like he’s being careful, deliberate, thinking things through. Normally Daniel abhors silence, but he makes himself wait, doesn’t say anything to jeopardize what he thinks is about to happen.

“Now see,” Johnny says, and the way his voice has gone husky makes Daniel’s dick stand straight up – “See, that seems like a pretty positive review to me. But every time I try to get closer to you, you go about as twitchy as a rabid squirrel. Care to explain the mixed signals?”

Daniel realizes that at some point, he’d clamped onto the back of the couch. He releases his death grip and buys time by looking down at his hands, which are so clammy they might’ve left sweat-stains on the couch cover.

“I uh,” Daniel stutters, regroups, continues: “I was with Amanda for a long time, before we separated – and before that, I only ever dated women. So you’re kind of, uh, an outlier. For me.”

Johnny makes a considering face. “Is this you trying to say that you’re into me?”

Daniel laughs mirthlessly and runs a sweaty hand through his hair. Johnny’s gaze follows the motion.

“Uh-huh. More or less.”

Johnny digests this.

“You gonna freak out if I say that I want you back?”

Daniel feels a wash of heat suffuse his whole body. Yeah he’s freaking out, but this particular cocktail of chemicals feels different from being enraged by Johnny, or being frightened for Johnny, or a garden-variety panic attack. This feels _good,_ like something to lean into.

“No,” he answers, and now his voice has gone scratchy too. “I mean, uh, this is happening very fast, but I don’t mind... I’m only saying I want to take it slow.”

This sounds ridiculous after the extremely rash move of driving here in the middle of the day to confront Johnny about a bunch of shirtless photos, but Daniel’s hoping he won’t be called out on it. 

Really, it’s a piss-poor romantic declaration, but it seems to work well enough for Johnny. It’s like a shadow falls over his face, turns his gaze _hungry_ , and Daniel’s grateful none of the PTA moms will see this because they’d probably leave their husbands just to be on the receiving end of this look. Daniel stands up off the couch, because he’ll feel like a coward if he doesn’t at least meet John halfway.

It's so strange to see Johnny be careful instead of coming at him full steam. In high school Daniel's nerves would light up when Johnny rushed him. This new, slower approach makes him nervous in a different way.

Johnny is standing in front of him now, and if Daniel's going to chicken out, this would really be the time to do it. Johnny's physicality can't be disguised; the height of him, the span of his shoulders, the violence sublimated just beneath his skin.

But Daniel can tell he's trying his hardest not to be threatening, to show him he can be gentle, and there's something hypnotic about his eyes this close up. The spell doesn't break when Johnny cups Daniel's cheek, or drags his hand down his jaw.

His skin is so sensitized; the drag of Johnny's calloused fingers feels like nothing he's experienced before.

Daniel’s faintly afraid his chest will crack open, the way his heart is battering up against his ribs. Wouldn’t that be an unforgettable obituary. But maybe it’s OK, because Johnny looks on edge too, respiration gone shallow like even his breath might spook Daniel.

And then Johnny’s eyelids drop to half-mast and he’s leaning in and Daniel makes a sound of profound relief and then they’re kissing. At first it’s tentative, just sipping kisses like Daniel is champagne and Johnny's savoring him. Or maybe it’s a concession to Daniel’s demand that they go slow, but the more they kiss the more his reservations melt.

The negligible height difference is nice. Daniel doesn’t have to tip down catch Johnny’s mouth, and besides it doesn’t seem to matter how their faces are angled. Their lips keep finding each other effortlessly, as if magnetized.

There’s a beseeching quality to Johnny’s kisses. The way he lingers before disengaging seems to say: ‘ _please, let me have this_ , _I’ll be good_ ’. Daniel’s still awestruck that this is for _him_ , that an evergreen stud like Johnny Lawrence is really trying to seduce Daniel; but Johnny’s kissing like he means it.

So many minutiae he hadn’t been able to imagine. How Johnny’s blunt nails carding through the hair behind his ear make him shiver and quake. How good the gentle abrasion of Johnny’s stubble against his face is. The topography of Johnny’s chest pressed up against him, the friction it creates.

They’re perfectly in sync, too, when it comes to upping the intensity. Johnny tugs at his chin, just a little, and licks in when Daniel opens his mouth, tasting like shitty beer and misspent youth. Daniel can’t stop himself from moaning, welcoming the intrusion. Johnny is prying him open at the seams, finally translating all his pent-up kinetic energy into pure ardor.

The hand on his jaw goes from cradling to clutching, forcing his head back like Johnny’s got something to _prove_ , like an athlete who’s spent too long on the bench and is ready to raise hell. Daniel glides his hand up to Johnny’s neck and feels his rabbiting pulse, matches his aggression by trying to crawl into his mouth tongue-first.

Soon they’re both panting every time they surface for air, and Daniel is shocked that despite his middle-age, he feels more desperate than he ever did as a teenager. He realizes, with some alarm, that his hips have started pressing against Johnny in a kind of counter-rhythm to their rapidly escalating make-out.

On the one hand, this is mortifying, but on the other hand, the slow grind lets Daniel feel where Johnny is hard and _needy_ against him. Daniel feels it like a brand scorching his thigh, can’t believe that a few minutes of kissing have them both far-gone enough to rub off against each other.

It’s unmistakable proof of Johnny’s desire for Daniel – a goofy car mogul from Jersey wearing his best dad Chino’s, and Johnny wants _him_. Daniel feels hot and smug, knowing those undersexed suburban moms would happily volunteer to let Johnny hump them into next week.

But Daniel knew Johnny was a diamond in the rough 34 years ago, so he’s going to be the first and last person in line for this prize, thanks. A savage and irrational part of Daniel wants to sound off on the PTA Facebook that Johnny is _his,_ so everyone else can scram.

When Daniel attaches to Johnny’s lower lip and bites it, meaner than he should, Johnny makes a low sound that is almost despairing _._ Daniel gets an illicit thrill at the thought that now, it’s his turn to torment Johnny. A revenge three decades in the making.

“Shit, LaRusso,” Johnny gasps out “the way you kept talkin’ about going slow and bein’ half a virgin, I thought you were gonna be some kinda shrinking violet, but you’re killing me.”

Daniel channels his irritation at being called “half a virgin” into sucking angrily on Johnny’s tongue, and suddenly the hand that had been bracketing his waist shoots down to his hip and _squeezes_ painfully. Daniel can’t tell if Johnny’s retaliating or if his control is slipping, and finds he doesn’t care.

Emboldened, he gives Johnny’s mouth a parting nip and starts nuzzling downwards. Daniel licks a stripe right up the column of his neck, feeling feral. Johnny’s answering moan only encourages his baser instincts, and Daniel finally gives in to the urge he’s been fighting and sucks a hickey into Johnny’s trunk of a neck. 

“ _Ah_ , Daniel,” Johnny rasps, and hearing Johnny use his real name is just the icing on the cake. Daniel sinks lower and bites another choice spot on Johnny’s neck; it’s just as solid as he imagined.

And sure, maybe if Daniel weren’t high on endorphins he’d be a little worried about his latent cannibalistic tendencies, but Johnny’s noises don’t sound like complaints at all, even when he whines:

“Man, are you trying to put me in a turtleneck? In this heat?”

Once he's started his downward trajectory it's hard to stop. Without thinking, Daniel yanks at the collar of Johnny's tank, drags one side down over his shoulder to expose the goods. Every new intimacy convinces Daniel how superior present-day flesh and blood Johnny is to the teen hunk immortalized in those photos.

The pictures seem anemic next to the heady experience of watching Johnny’s adult body animated by pleasure, seeing the way his skin prickles with goosebumps and his nipples go tight under his cotton tank.

Watching how every inhale makes his chest swell and every shuddering exhale ripples over his frame. A sound of irritation makes Daniel look up to check in (and that face packs as much of a wallop as the muscles do, if in a different way).

Johnny regards him with one eye slitted open, which could be menacing in another context, but the diffuse blush and lax lines of his face don’t inspire fear. Daniel kisses his shoulder, more gently now, and Johnny speaks his mind.

“What gives, Danielle?”, he croaks. “Thought you were about to ravish me ‘n shit. Don’t stop now.”

Daniel snorts, even as he feels his stomach flutter at the encouragement.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses. “I’m just trying not to... overdo it, y’know?”

Johnny barks out a laugh.

“You’re not usually this slow on the uptake, LaRusso,” he ribs. “How are you not getting this? You could probably chew me up like a dog toy and I’d be into it.”

You’d think that that would evoke some terrible boner-killing mental image, but Johnny has always known exactly how to bait Daniel, and this time is no exception. Daniel is swallowed by heat, how he imagines it feels to stand in the backdraft of an explosion, and then he’s descending on Johnny’s chest again for a grudge match.

He sucks another mark right into Johnny's trapezius, bites the perfect angle of his deltoid, rapidly revising his definition of sacred geometry. Johnny’s neck snaps back and he huffs out an ecstatic little ‘ _Hah_ ’ like Daniel is reaching deep inside of him, not just crushing a few blood vessels. Daniel drifts in towards the drumbeat of Johnny’s heart, buries his face in the divot between Johnny's pecs and groans.

"Those fuckin' pictures, Johnny, I don't think I'll ever recover,” he murmurs. “Every time I go to a Halloween store and see one of those He-man costumes with the foam chests, I’m gonna wind up with a raging hard-on because of you.”

And suddenly Johnny expels his breath on a whine and flies into motion. He nearly decks Daniel in the face as he pulls back and peels the tank-top over his head. The resulting spectacle is sort of like if you pressed fast-forward on one of those Magic Mike strip scenes (and yeah, Daniel watched that movie, so what?)

Daniel isn’t on the firmest footing here, but he’s pretty sure the shucking the shirt thing means Johnny is declaring open season. Signaling he wants to be _touched_ , by Daniel.

And Johnny’s body is different now, the muscle definition isn’t as sharp and he hasn’t been waxed within an inch of his life, but his chest is still a thing of beauty. Daniel isn’t about to let his insecurity stop him from going to town on Johnny fucking Lawrence.

Daniel anchors himself by splaying his hands on Johnny’s waist. He starts by nestling his face where it was moments before, in between Johnny’s pecs, but now there are whole new dimensions to the experience, like the heat of his skin and the faint musk of his sweat. Johnny’s breath hitches, he wavers a little on his feet, and that’s plenty of feedback to convince Daniel to keep going.

He licks the perfect slope of Johnny’s pecs, on each side, and doesn’t miss Johnny's uncontrolled gasp. He figures, the same tactics that worked on Johnny’s neck are probably worth trying on rest of his body, and applies some suction just to the side of Johnny’s nipple. Johnny _keens_ , which is a lovely sound, but he follows the noise with backtalk, which is less cute.

“I'm starting to think Hawk isn't the only one with a thing for my 'rack'," Johnny gloats. Daniel does not need to look up to know he is wearing a smug expression.

"You want this to stop?," he threatens. "Then keep running your smartass mouth, Johnny Lawrence."

That shuts Johnny up - or at least, renders him nonverbal again.

Daniel is surprised by how naturally it all comes when he follows his gut. Knowing where to apply his mouth isn’t a challenge, not the way Johnny’s noises ratchet up the closer Daniel gets to his nipples. And the more Daniel sucks the more Johnny seems increasingly unsteady on his feet, so it’s only practical for them to start migrating towards the sofa. Somehow it’s not awkward, somehow they already know each other’s choreography well.

Next thing you know Johnny is lying down on the couch and Daniel is straddling his hips because he still knows how they fit together, instinctively. He’s not prepared for the wanton sound Johnny makes when he settles his weight, though, or the rapturous way Johnny looks up at him. Like this is more than just sex.

Then Johnny is tugging him down by his shirt to kiss again, and Daniel feels like an idiot for ever hesitating when given a chance at this. Being with Johnny is already transcendent, and they’ve barely gotten to second base. He tries to transmit this revelation to Johnny via their kiss, chases his mouth every time they separate for air.

And then Daniel is suddenly kissing bristly 5-o’clock shadow because Johnny has turned towards his ear, mouthing at it, and that’s not a bad feeling at all. After a moment, Johnny clears his throat and speaks softly as he fingers Daniel’s collar.

“Can you take this off? Will you?”

Daniel freezes, not because he’s unwilling, but more because he’s been thinking of Johnny as the main attraction. Also he’s been steadily shedding IQ points since Johnny started undulating his hips. So, dumb.

Johnny continues in hushed, confessional tones: “I mean, it’s great for leverage and all but I really fuckin’ want to see you with your clothes off.”

There’s something about Johnny’s guileless comments that just zap the pleasure center of Daniel’s brain. Daniel will have to analyze that later, when he’s not busy seducing Johnny. Daniel raises up off of Johnny enough for them to look at each other squarely, and says:

“So undress me, Johnny.”

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued! I expected this to be a short little thing that I worked out of my system but in practice it was more like a week-long exorcism. Whoops! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the stamina of two middle-aged karate dads is tested.

Once the challenge is issued, time accelerates again and Johnny is ripping Daniel’s crew neck shirt off of him, _that_ desperate to have skin-to-skin contact. Daniel makes a nuisance of himself by attempting to kiss Johnny as he removes his shirt. When Johnny finally succeeds, he looks up like Daniel’s the former supermodel.

Well, Daniel’s no slouch for a guy his age, but Johnny is the one with the fan club. Daniel gets back to demonstrating his appreciation. He folds over Johnny and kisses down his neck, over his collarbone, down between his pecs again, then stops.

“ _Danny_ ,” Johnny breathes, and suddenly Daniel is leaking into his briefs, riding against the fly on his slacks. Somehow that word has turned from annoying nickname to secret erogenous zone. When he seals his mouth over Johnny’s nipple again, Johnny arches up in a beautiful parabola. 

And Daniel had been guarding his teeth carefully, trying to be considerate, but when Johnny pitches up it jostles Daniel’s mouth and his incisor meets flesh. Daniel didn’t think anything could up the ante here, but the accidental bite sets Johnny _off_.

He seizes Daniel’s hips and uses the strength of his arms to tilt Daniel’s whole pelvis, rub their bodies together like kindling. Daniel wants to show he’s not just putty in Johnny’s hands, so he locks his thighs, just to put up a bit of a fight.

If anything, the resistance seems to goad Johnny on, which is typical.

Another epiphany clicks into place. There had always been something different about the way Johnny and Daniel hurled aggression at each other. When they faced off on the mat, they achieved some sort of resonance; sine, cosine. Maybe they can find the same synchrony being together like this.

Daniel’s never seen foreplay as a battleground before, but it’s him and Johnny, so what other dynamic could there be? It’s second nature to exploit his opponent’s obvious weakness. Daniel shifts to Johnny’s other nipple and sets about abusing it. At first there’s vocal fanfare, but then Johnny gets self-conscious and turns his face into the arm of the couch (though it barely does anything to dampen the sounds).

“You like that, Johnny,” he taunts, “me treatin’ you rough? Leaving marks on you?”

There is a split-second delay before Daniel’s mind catches up with his mouth and he blushes, but Johnny’s whispered ‘ _Yeah’_ is enough incentive to keep going.

“You’re the one who’s always harping on about ‘no mercy’, huh Johnny? So you tell me, should I show you mercy?”

Johnny makes an anguished sound into the upholstery and shakes his head. This probably shouldn’t turn Daniel on as much as it does, but there’s no arguing with your own arousal. Daniel can't stop himself from inflicting bites and hickeys all over Johnny's chest, leaving traces of himself all over the chest that's caused such a stir in the Valley.

And Johnny certainly doesn't seem opposed; he's making zero effort to stop Daniel's oral assault. Johnny's hips keep lifting more insistently, to the point that Daniel has to shift further down to maintain balance, bringing his mouth southwards as he goes.

When he licks down the crease bisecting his abs, Johnny’s hands clench so tight around his thighs that Daniel worries about losing circulation. The situation worsens when he runs his tongue along the cut of Johnny’s Iliac crest.

“Ease up with the grip, man," Daniel prods. "You tryna' be a human torniquet or somethin'?"

Suddenly Johnny's brain is back online and he smiles one of his blinding smiles at Daniel.

"I remember when you complimented my grip," he reminisces, sounding almost dreamy.

“Evidently it was a one-way street,” Daniel snorts.

Johnny continues to regard him fondly from below. And then he’s crunching up in a way that is showy but very hot (typical Johnny) and kissing Daniel wetly. It’s good, it’s phenomenal, it’s a new expression of the chemistry they’ve always had.

“I could re-evaluate, maybe,” Johnny pants against his mouth, “give your grip another try.”

Daniel’s head reels when he realizes what Johnny means. And yeah, he’s very interested in that, but also a little terrified. He stalls for time.

“Should we... move to your bed, maybe?”

He expects Johnny to start crowing about what a prissy girl he is, call him Danielle, but apparently Johnny wants to relocate too because he seesaws up right away, nearly spilling Daniel out of his lap.

“Yes, bedroom, great idea,” he echoes as he yanks Daniel to his feet. “You always were the smart one.”

They get a little distracted en route when Daniel shoves Johnny up against the hallway wall for more kissing. It’s a minor miracle that Johnny doesn’t wind up concussed, but they make it to the bedroom unscathed. The room is darkened thanks to the shades being down, which also grants them some privacy.

He doesn’t get to study the decor beyond that because Johnny plasters himself against Daniel and skates a hand down to his belt buckle.

“No pants in bed,” he growls. “My house my rules.”

"So?" Daniel goads, in between kisses. "What're you gonna do about it?"

Daniel isn't sure why he's making Johnny do all the work. But Johnny seems more than willing to indulge him, against all reason. Here's Johnny, a guy with a chip on his shoulder the size of California, a guy who used to knock Daniel down, going out of his way to accommodate him.

Johnny buries his head in the crook of Daniel’s neck as he undoes Daniel’s belt and fly with shaking hands.

“Used to have these like... out of control thoughts, picture undressing you,” he confides. “At the dealership, god, that double-date at the restaurant, in your dojo... Made it real fuckin’ hard to carry on a conversation.”

The admission makes Daniel's whole center of gravity lurch. He lets Johnny roll his pants down and steps out. Then Daniel gets distracted by the fact that he’s still wearing socks and stops to remove the offending articles of clothing.

Johnny snickers and rolls his eyes, but his amusement vanishes when Daniel strips off his briefs and lets them hit the floor. Daniel has convinced himself this is a purely tactical move, a sort of nudity blitz, and therefore nothing he needs to feel shy or awkward over.

But probably the psych-up wasn’t necessary. The way Johnny is drinking him in with a blush, looking like he's been given too much of a good thing and doesn't know what to do with this abundance... It snuffs out the part of Daniel that had been afraid.

“You too, and then onto the bed,” orders Daniel, surprised by how gravelly his own voice has gotten.

Johnny sheds his boxers and edges back towards the bed, but stops short and pins Daniel with his eyes, gauging something. And then they’re talking without words like they always could in the arena.

' _I call your bluff_ , LaRusso,' say Johnny's flashing eyes and slanted smirk.

 _'I never bluff_ ,' say Daniel’s coiled muscles and the set of his mouth.

And then he’s shoving Johnny onto the bed, manhandling him where he wants him (on his back, right in the middle) and Johnny is panting like he’s just finished a triathlon – that worked up. It’s so good and they’ve barely done anything yet.

They fall back into kissing but it’s different now they’re naked, feels like the boundaries that kept them separate have eroded and they’re just flowing into each other. Fused together by heat and sweat and the urge to make up for lost time.

Still, Daniel has enough sense of bodily integrity to distinctly feel where Johnny’s erection is leaking, sandwiched between their stomachs. And when he remembers what Johnny asked for back on the couch, something snaps into alignment and he’s ready.

He retreats enough to tease: “You want my hand, Johnny?”

He half expects Johnny to beg for the privilege, but instead Johnny shoves up until there’s a sliver of space between their bodies and grabs onto Daniel’s hand like he’s springing a steel trap. He drags Daniel’s hand to his erection, dripping and slick, and grinds out:

“What do you think, Daniel?”

Daniel plants his hand on Johnny’s hip, doesn’t quite cave in. He lets himself look and it's good, it's not a dealbreaker. He wasn't sure how he'd react but there's nothing intimidating about Johnny's dick, dusky and hot with blood and standing up from a thatch of dirty-blonde hair, begging for attention.

Daniel forces Johnny back down with a palm to his chest, because even working towards the same goal doesn’t blunt the competitive edge between them. If he’s gonna jerk Johnny off he’ll do it on his terms, thank you very much. Johnny goes pliant; he clearly recognizes that cooperation is the fastest route to an orgasm.

Daniel traces Johnny’s cock from the head to the base with a feather-light touch. Watches precum well at the tip and spill down the side as Johnny sucks in air through his teeth like he’s hurt. Daniel helps things along their natural course, gently grips Johnny and spreads the slick along his length.

Johnny writhes and Daniel hears, but doesn’t see, Johnny balling the sheets in his fists. (The fact that Johnny’s sheets are audibly crunchy is something they’ll have to address another time.) Daniel starts stroking up and down, keeping time with the bloodborne thrum he feels just beneath Johnny’s skin. Johnny’s whole body jerks as if electrified.

“You really shouldn’t tense up like that,” Daniel snipes. “At your age you might pull something.”

And he can see in Johnny’s eyes that he wants to retort, probably fling the fact that he’s _younger_ than Daniel back in his face, but the rip-tide of sensation keeps pulling him under.

It’s almost wet enough with Johnny’s precum alone but Daniel wants a smooth glide, nothing to interfere with his rhythm. He releases Johnny and reaches his soiled hand up towards the headboard.

“Get it wet, Johnny,” Daniel says – and yeah, the words are a little thready but his tone brooks no argument. And Johnny, astonishingly, _does what Daniel told him to do_. He grabs the proffered hand like he was waiting for this and licks wide over the palm, over his fingerpads, huffing out vocal little breaths in between passes.

Daniel thought it would be gratifying to see Johnny follow orders, but the payoff is stronger, sweeter, swifter than he imagined. His stomach flutters and he can't hold back a thin hum (some would say a moan) at the feeling. Johnny refracts the sound right back at him, but louder.

Daniel loses control of his tongue a little bit and words stumble out: “That’s good, Johnny. So good.”

Johnny presses a surprisingly tender kiss against his hand and sighs out:

“Don’t make me wait ‘nymore.”

The lack of a ‘please’ is disappointing, but Daniel senses he can get Johnny there with another show of dexterity. Johnny’s already more docile than he would’ve thought possible. Daniel trails his newly-wetted pointer finger over Johnny’s throat, sternum, navel, and finally thumbs over the head of his cock. When he reintroduces all five fingers, Daniel is pleased to find there’s plenty of lubrication this time.

Johnny lets out an ‘ _Ah_!’ so loud that he winces and starts biting the knuckles of his left hand.

And yeah, Johnny’s falling to pieces already over a simple tug job, but Daniel wants to see how far he can push things. And he’s pretty sure that Johnny’s got a weakness for Daniel talking dirty, so he leans into that, ruthless as you please.

“Want me to tell you my favorite photo?” Daniel offers up. He’s maybe volunteering more than he needs to, but Johnny’s reaction is worth it. His head turns to the side again – that little tic when he’s overcome – and he grits out:

“ _Danny_.”

When Johnny shapes his mouth around the old nickname, it’s like a hook catching on Daniel’s spine. He has no choice but to continue.

““It’s the one of you... up against the rocks,” he manages, trying to prove himself equal to a little light multitasking. It’s hard not to be derailed when he notices how much wetter Johnny’s cock has gone under his hand, but Daniel’s no quitter.

“The pants reminded me of... your gi, your uniform, and your fucking muscles, Johnny, that I could’ve felt if I’d let my hands wander when we fought.”

Johnny is thrashing on the bed like a man possessed, and then finally, finally, he says the magic word:

“ _Please, Daniel_.”

Then Daniel is doing everything he can think of to make Johnny feel good. He starts twisting at the crest of his upstroke, squeezing firm at the bottom of his downstroke. Sees what kind of havoc he can wreak with his left hand, pinching at Johnny’s stiff nipples until he seizes up. When he circles around to cup his balls, just barely insinuates a tugging motion, Johnny sobs:

“ _Fuck. Oh fuck_.”

But then Daniel loses his rhythm in a fit of indecision. Should he keep going like this, bring Johnny off, or do something about his own arousal? Honestly, he wouldn’t feel hard-done-by even if he doesn’t come. It’s reward enough to watch Johnny like this, to take him apart.

Then again... he’s pretty wound up, and Johnny would probably welcome anything involving more contact. Daniel keeps stroking with his right hand but drops to a more leisurely pace. Johnny notices, and opens his eyes to shoot him a reproachful look. When Daniel doesn’t speed up, Johnny makes a complaining noise and pistons his hips, in case Daniel was so oblivious he missed the first cue.

Daniel pinches Johnny’s thigh with his left hand in irritation and Johnny yelps.

“So impatient,” Daniel scoffs, but he drops a kiss to Johnny’s chest to show he’s not really mad. “I was just thinking... would it be better if we, y’know, together?”

Daniel cants his hips closer, aligning their erections, to illustrate what he means. And that message is definitely received, because gone is Johnny’s indolent dog-in-heat routine. He grabs Daniel’s hips again and he’s dragging them together with the sort of urgency you’d expect in an armageddon-themed skin flick. (Like, a meteor is hurtling towards the earth so let’s fuck before we die? That level.)

Johnny barely gives Daniel enough time to extract his hand. And OK, Johnny’s overenthusiasm notwithstanding, Daniel will admit that sliding against each other, slick and bare, is a big upgrade over frotting through their clothes on the couch.

But, it doesn’t take long to realize that Johnny’s claw-like grip is a little _too_ strong. Daniel will be profoundly unamused if he winds up with a bruised ass and a dislocated hip because Johnny Lawrence only has one setting in the bedroom and it’s ATTACK.

Daniel braces himself against Johnny’s aggressive motions and deploys his left (slightly cleaner) hand to cup Johnny’s face.

“Johnny,” he croons “Johnny, sweetheart, _easy_.”

Some of the fog clears from Johnny’s eyes, and Daniel decides to swoop down and kiss him before he gets verbally skewered for calling Johnny ‘sweetheart’.

And it’s good, just as good as before, though now Johnny’s somehow more sedated, willing to let Daniel lead. It’s quite a gearshift after the whole grinding against Daniel for two minutes thing, but to be fair Daniel had kind of killed his momentum.

He knows exactly how he’ll make it up to Johnny, though. Daniel keeps gentling his mouth against Johnny as he sneaks his right hand back in between them, wraps it around both their dicks. Johnny moans right into his mouth, which is instantly addictive.

“Like this, yeah?” Daniel whispers, and it’s really a rhetorical question if it’s a question at all. He can tell they’re both adrift on the sensation, the melding of velvet heat and wet and the sweet shocky feeling of throbbing against each other.

It’s exceedingly good. It’s so good it should be illegal. Daniel feels that hard-to-describe tension low in his stomach, like the slow draw of a bowstring going taut, millimeter by millimeter. He’s getting close, but he’s pretty sure he can get Johnny there first. (Not that it’s a competition.)

Daniel slips his tongue right into Johnny's mouth, no bashfulness, like he's always belonged here. He repeats his little maneuver from before, twisting his wrist every time he coasts over their heads, and Johnny keens and his hands start twitching where they've fallen against the bed.

Soon the twitching that started in his hands cascades through the rest of his body, and every part of Johnny is restless, unmoored. Daniel feels a jolt when Johnny hooks his calf around the back of his leg, twining them together.

Before he can read any sort of sentiment into the gesture, Daniel speeds up his hand. It proves effective at distracting them both. Daniel realizes that Johnny’s breathing is now syncopated to the pulls of his hand. The closer he looks and listens the more Johnny’s body telegraphs.

It’s there in the rocking of his hips and the flushing of his skin and the delirious sound of his ‘ _ah_ , _ah_ , _ah_ ’s. Daniel feels like he’s been struck with the gift of sudden clairvoyance, it’s that clear.

“Gonna come for me, Johnny?” Daniel starts moving his hand double-time.

“ _Yes_ ,” he bites out, sounding almost angry about it, but then he lets slip: _“Don’t you dare fucking stop_ , _Daniel, please,”_ and only Johnny could sound a chord like that, begging and threatening at the same time.

This is happening. He's gonna watch Johnny come, and then he's going to hoard that knowledge and make damn sure nobody else gets to bear witness.

Daniel likes the thought so much he can’t resist laving over Johnny’s neck, gnashing his teeth right into one of the purpling hickeys he’d given Johnny on the couch. Johnny’s chest heaves and his head twists to the side and Daniel thinks: _Bingo_.

Just like that, he has his victory. Johnny’s voice catches and his cock twitches and then he’s coming loudly, forcefully, over Daniel’s hand and his own chest. It’s the kind of climax you would expect from a sexually frustrated teenager, not a middle-aged man.

Daniel feels mildly superior until Johnny, who still isn’t wrung out, encircles Daniel’s hand and starts stroking them off like it’s an act of vengeance. Daniel had almost forgotten how close he was, but being caught fast in the vice of Johnny’s hand brings it back into focus real quick.

“ _Johnny_ ,” he gasps, just barely managing to hold himself upright.

And Johnny jacks harder, cinches tight under the ridge of Daniel's dick and growls out something like _'Gimme'_ and this ridiculous command is Daniel's downfall.

It turns out he can still come like a teenager too, hard and involuntary, doubling the mess on Johnny's stomach. Johnny seems unbothered, if not gratified, watching Daniel unspool all over his chest.

_***_

Johnny and Daniel do show their age a little after the rush of endorphins fades. They both sort of slump to the bed, clearly feeling the after-effects of their exertion. It's not so bad, though, when Johnny loops an arm around Daniel and sort of nestles against him.

That is, it's pleasant until Johnny grabs one of Daniel's discarded socks to mop up his stomach. Daniel makes a protesting squawk and tries to snatch it away, but he's still a little drained and uncoordinated from the whole coming his brains out thing so Johnny successfully holds him at bay.

"Relax, LaRusso," Johnny dismisses. “It’s just a sock. Small price to pay for a night with the golden god of the San Fernando Valley.”

Daniel turns to look at Johnny, daggers in his eyes, and is met with a smirk. It will take months to shave Johnny’s ego back down to size. Daniel throws the comforter, gone askew from their tumble on the bed, over Johnny’s face to try and smother the annoying expression.

“You infuriating... himbo,” Daniel grumbles.

“Himbo?” Johnny sheds the comforter and resurfaces, face screwed up like he’s not sure if he should be offended or not.

Daniel is suddenly overcome with a yawn and has to let it pass before explaining.

“I think it means... hot beefy idiot? Or something?” he offers. “God, I had to look it up. All the Facebook moms were posting hashtag himbo in the comments.” Johnny is visibly delighted.

“So you had to stake your claim first, huh?” he teases into Daniel’s shoulder.

And Daniel would like to retort that he’s not some sort of Cro-Magnon who showed up to club Johnny over the head and mate with him, but when he notices the hickeys littered all over Johnny’s chest the words kind of... die in his mouth.

“I already had you,” he grouses, and falls asleep.

~* _Fin_ *~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, now this is a thing that exists outside my word processor. I thought I was basically done with chapter 3 but then I wrote a bunch more! Will I regret staying up this late when I have to work in like 6 hours? Yes, but we all must suffer for our art. Hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Take that 2021!


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